


Make a wish (The stars are listening)

by Aruthla



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aruthla/pseuds/Aruthla
Summary: For the first time since the beginning of his interrogation, Fingon dared to meet his uncle's gaze and decided to take the courage that he was supposedly the embodiment of in his hands.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 1
Kudos: 50
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2019





	Make a wish (The stars are listening)

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Ela-draws,  
> Here your present ! I hope you will like it !

From the corner of his eye, he was watching him. He couldn't stop looking at him, his whole person demanding everyone's attention, but especially his own. Like a flame, he attracted everyone's gaze like moths, while his deep voice echoed amidst the hubbub of other conservations.

"Valinor to Fin', can you hear me?"

"I hear you Glorfindel," sighed Fingon as he turned to his brother Turgon's best friend.

"Really?" He asked suspiciously.

"Really," he growled as he rolled his eyes.

Maedhros could perhaps get his attention in less than two seconds, but that didn't mean he couldn't follow a conversation, if you could call the blonde elf monologue like that. He had been king all the same Eru! He was quite capable of following two conversations at the same time (in fact, it was a talent he had developed by looking after his siblings, but no one needed to know that).

"Anyway! I was saying-"

"Ada? May I ask you something? In private," Gil-galad added before Glorfindel could open his mouth.

"Of course Gil," Fingon hastened to reply, ready to do anything to escape another elf monologue about the power of love or he didn't know what else.

He let his son guide him through the room, directing him to one of the private balconies, the one with the best view of the Winter Garden. Fingon let his gaze glide over the frozen ponds, where the frozen snow turned them into a shimmering mirror under the moon's rays. Ice sculptures were hidden between the bushes and trees, decorated with ice stalactites and lanterns. His gaze continued to travel, going towards the central grove where elves disappeared under the snow-laden branches, then he lost himself in the silhouette of Tirion, which stood out from the night thanks to the many lights decorating it as it spread out at the foot of the palace. Finally, his gaze returned to Gil-galad and Fingon was taken with a burst of pride towards his son.

That said, it still made him feel strange to think of the elf as his son when he had abandoned him with Círdan. Because there were no other words to describe his actions towards him. His marriage with Sorne had been purely political, the elves following his family wanting to make sure they had someone to follow other than the Fëanorians after Fëanor's betrayal (which had been the result of the Silmarilli's contact, which contained a piece of his fëa, with the dark powers of Morgoth). The first time he saw his son, he felt nothing. Not the slightest joy, not even sadness, nothing. In fact, the only thing he felt was disgust. Disgust at himself for not being able to love a child he had been an actor in bringing into his world. Disgust for betraying the only person he had ever loved, even though he had never revealed his feelings to him. In the end, under the pretext of wanting to see him grow up in a safe place, he sent his son and Sourne away from him and pretended that nothing had happened. Of course, no one heard it that way, always finding a way to remind him of Gil-galad's existence. The only person who didn't do this was Maedhros. He was the only one who allowed him to forget for a moment the existence of his "heir," "the one who will wear the royal crown of Noldor." Even though their conversations revolved around Morgoth and how to defeat him, for a moment he could pretend they were back in Valinor where they laughed out loud and let their horses lead them wherever they wanted. That only the stars were guardians of his silent confessions. For a moment he could think of his burning love for him. To think that the only thing that stopped him at that time from confessing to Maedhros was his uncle's hatred for his father. However, this ephemeral dream always ended and he would leave again, leaving Maedhros alone to face Morgoth.

For four centuries, he silently kept his feelings for him, not daring to give a little hope in the world of Maedhros. But all that changed, with what would become known as Nirnaeth Arnoediad. It should have been a battle, not a simple or easy one, because none of them were, from which he should have survived. From which he should have returned and kept his promise with himself: to confess the truth of his heart to Maedhros. He still remembered the anguished look in his eyes when he told him that he should talk to him after this battle. He had never forgotten the shadow of fear that lurked in Maedhros' eyes after he had asked him to meet him afterwards, when it was all over. Because he had never doubted him and was certain that they would win. What arrogance! What naivety on their part! And they had paid the price.

After his judgment by Mandos, he had cut himself off from everyone, living as a recluse among the dead who sang his praises. The rare echoes of the songs that reached him made him sick, not being able to recognize himself in their chants. All the valour and courage that the dead spoke of to describe him was unknown to him. After all, he had never dared to approach Maedhros before to speak to him about his heart. After crossing the Helcaraxë, he only ticked the boxes for each day he could witness while the others fell around him, until he joined them. Each day spent in the Halls of Mandos was a real torture, unable to completely escape the idealistic vision of the dead on him and his family. Besides, more than once his father or his siblings tried to pull him out of his isolation, in vain. He remained deaf to their pleas, to their requests. No matter how many times they told him not to blame himself for the actions of the Fëanorians, he did it. Because it was his fault that they had to live like this, that they had to kill others to fulfill their dark oath. If only he had followed Maedhros' plan, he could have been free...

That's how he spent his time in the Halls of Mandos, moping over what could have been, blaming himself for all the evil in the world. And maybe it could have lasted until Dagor Dagorath, if his son hadn't suddenly appeared in front of him and punched him. At least he'd gotten his attention right away. And that was undoubtedly what he wanted, because as soon as he stared at his son, he grabbed him by the collar and started shouting at him while insulting him. Although stunned by the blow, he quickly came to his senses despite the brutal verbal assaults. He heard the "cowards", the "couards", the "scared", the "gutless", the "pusillanimous", the "capons", the "raincoats", the "sissy", and the "fugitives" in his tirade of a son outraged and afflicted to have such a father. Every time Gil-galad called him that, he felt something in him rise. Then finally, the last drop came and the vase overflowed. What was just a quarrel turned into a fight, where each one returned the blow a hundredfold. For the first time in a long time, he let his heart speak, not trying to hide behind a pretty smile and a meaningless joke. For the first time he was really "Fingon". For the first time he allowed himself to say what he really thought. All those cruel truths that he had silently accumulated in his heart poured out as his son wrung more from him. Their struggle ended when he snatched the last truth from him, the one he had kept hidden in his heart for so long: his burning love for Maedhros. Unfortunately, the one who should have heard his words was not there and Fingon cried on Gil-galad's shoulder for all the years he had wasted because of his cowardice. He cried many things that day, both good and bad. Then finally came the day he was expelled from the Halls, for he had no other words to describe the rapture with which Lord Mandos threw him out with a simple, " _All patience is rewarded._ "

And now he was back in Tirion with the last of the exiled Noldor. It had really been a surprise to discover that he was one of the last, but the real surprise was to discover the Fëanorians, all out of the Halls. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to question this miracle, quickly finding himself embarked in a storm of endless greetings, before being captured by Glorfindel and finally saved again by his son.

"Wipe that smile off immediately, it's creepy," his son said with a pout of disgust.

"It's my smile full of paternal love for you, with a touch of pride," he replied, as his smile grew even bigger as his son pretended to vomit. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"It was I who wanted to talk to you," snapped a well-known voice behind his back.

Slowly he turned and found himself facing his uncle Fëanor, still with the same expression of anger towards the world on his face. In spite of himself, Fingon felt himself swallowed up in fear as his son greeted him and returned to the festivities. For a moment, the two elves stood face to face, Fëanor staring at him as if his very existence was unbearable (which must have been quite probable) while Fingon did everything he could to escape his gaze. He didn't know how long this lasted, but his uncle finally breathed a deep breath before getting closer to him. Suddenly Fingon found himself facing two blue eyes as his face was held by his uncle.

"What is your opinion of the massacres committed by my sons because of my oath?" He questioned immediately.

"Wh-what...?"

"Answer!"

"That it could have been filled much sooner if I had followed Maedhros' plan at Nirnaeth Arnoediad!"

"Do you blame yourself for his events?"

"Yes!" He answered honestly.

"Eru, how stupid you are," mumbled his uncle, probably so he wouldn't hear, "What do you think of Maedhros?"

"He's a wonderful person!"

"That's it?" Asked Fëanor with a raised eyebrow.

For the first time since the beginning of his interrogation, Fingon dared to meet his uncle's gaze and decided to take the courage that he was supposedly the embodiment of in his hands.

"I love him. He is the person I wish to spend my life with, whether blessed or cursed by Destiny. He is the person I want to see every day with the sunrise and go to bed with as soon as the moon comes. There's a thousand and one things I'd like to say to describe my love for him, but I'm not a poet."

For a moment, Fëanor continued to scrutinize him, as if he was searching his fëa through his eyes.

"Interesting. I see no reason to object."

And his uncle released him, heading for the door. No sooner had he gone through the door, Maedhros found himself suddenly pushed out onto the balcony, while his brothers closed the door behind him, and then the curtain. For a long time, the two elves stared at the blue curtain that cut them off from the rest of the world. Then, slowly, they turned their heads towards each other and Fingon saw Maedhros' face turn a scarlet colour. For a moment he couldn't help thinking that it was a colour that suited him, before he suddenly remembered what he had said to his uncle before he found himself locked in a balcony with Maedhros, who had certainly heard everything.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about that day?" Maedhros asked, quickly regaining his composure.

"Yes."

"How long has it been?"

"Do you believe me if I tell you since forever?"

"No," he replied with a sad smile.

"Too bad, because it's the truth."

"Are you aware that I'm a murderer?"

"I am as well. I also killed in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë."

"It's still less than I am," he replied.

"Maybe not. After all, this could have ended much sooner."

"Don't blame yourself for Nirnaeth Arnoediad."

"Too late for that," replied Fingon with the same sad smile that Maedhros had given him.

For a moment they stared at each other silently, looking for something in each other's eyes. What, they didn't know, but they looked for it. Maybe they found it eventually, because Maedhros spoke again.

"You shouldn't love me," he whispered.

"Then you shouldn't have made me fall for you," replied Fingon.

_As midnight sounded,_

_Tirion lights up with fireworks,_

_Two elves are making up for the time they lost praying to the stars._


End file.
